


Call Me Maybe (Leave a Message at the Tone)

by emilytea10



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Gen, M/M, One Shot, Stiles is happily (knowledgeably) bi in this, Telemarketing, Yay for Laura, a relationship that is largely anonymous for most of it, it's like internet dating, only with a phone, this is mostly Sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 03:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilytea10/pseuds/emilytea10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Human!AU where Stiles does telemarketing for a high-end store where Laura shops, but whenever he tries to call her, he always manages to have “just missed her”, much to the annoyance of her grumpy (and hot) sounding brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Me Maybe (Leave a Message at the Tone)

**Author's Note:**

> So, I don't know if this is some sort of admission of a twisted bit of self-insert, but basically, I was at work and I wondered what it'd be like if Stiles had my job. And then I turned it into a Sterek fic.

Stiles knows that throughout the history of human civilization, a lot of people have done things they’re not proud of in the name of money. Prostitution, drug muling, selling out artistically, and, fuck, Judas couldn’t have been too happy with himself standing there after the fact, 30 pieces of silver or no.

 

And Stiles knows that in comparison, what he does to earn money for school really isn’t that bad, not at all. 

But that doesn’t mean he enjoys it.

See, when Stiles first started school, he was very proud of himself for how much money he’d managed to save for his single, hard-working father. He was going to a local school (in-state tuition), was living at home and commuting (he did the math; gas + parking permit was actually significantly less than on campus housing), he continued using the same backpack he’d had since he was 16 and didn’t ask for a brand new laptop for graduation, like a majority of his peers. 

But then he started classes and was hit in the face with an expense he had unfortunately forgotten about.

Fucking textbooks.

I mean, seriously, since when does a biology text book cost $230? He could try to get one on Amazon for cheaper, but he has to have some stupid $50 online access code… why can’t colleges use paper? It was good enough for high school chemistry… And don’t even get him started on lab manuals and assigned readings. Who the hell requires 5 novels for a single semester? His English professor, apparently.

Anyway, it was either groceries for two months or books, and because Stiles needed both, he decided it was time he went out and got a job.

 

\----

 

For the record, Stiles would like to point out that finding a job is hard when you don’t have any previous experience and live in an area where there are hundreds of other students more willing and probably more capable of doing the job you’re applying for. Stiles only has so many marketable skills and no degree, so that in combination it becomes less of a matter of what do you want to do, and instead what will they let you do.

And usually people don’t let Stiles talk a lot. They very quickly learn that once he starts, he doesn’t really stop, so the smart ones don’t give him the opportunity to get going. But when he saddled up to the good-looking shift manager at higher-end clothing store in the local mall, gave him his charming-est smile, and proceeded to talk the man into giving him an interview despite said lack of previous experience, well... He soon learned that there actually was a relatively profitable outlet for his loquacious nature, one that didn’t alienate people he considers friends by talking them into submission.

Stiles just sort of wishes it didn’t make strangers hate him so much.

 

\----

 

“Alright, so here’s your script, the call list is by the computer there, pens and highlighters behind you if you want them, here’s your phone aaaaand… I think that’s it. You good?”

Stiles takes stock of the supplies as Tony (the good-looking shift manager) points them out. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” he says, nodding lightly, “I’ll let you know when I’m done!”

“Cool,” he responds and walks away, leaving Stiles alone amongst the computers and extra stock.

Stiles doesn’t really know what he’s doing, exactly, but it’s just talking on the phone, right? He’s been doing that since he could reach the counter, how hard could it be? So he grabs a cup of water from the bubbling cooler and settles in for the afternoon.

 

\---

 After about a week, Stiles realizes he’s said the magic words. Several hours and dozens of phone calls into day five, Stiles has been hung up on about 5 times, been screamed at once (by an angry husband who’s wife thought it’d be okay to give the store her husband’s work number), talked to three people who didn’t speak English (or tried to), and had left what’s felt like billions of voicemails. His voice feels a bit raw, but mostly he’s just bored out of his mind. But he knows he’s only got a handful of numbers left, so after a quick detour to the bathroom, he sits down to power through the numbness. 

He dials the next number on his list and listens to the ringing, waiting for an answer.

There’s a click and Stiles perks up.

“What?”

Stiles starts at the aggressive voice on the other end of the line. He double-checks his call list and traces the line under number he just dialed across the page to the name in the first column. Laura Hale. It’s supposed to be a _Laura._ This guy doesn’t sound like a Laura.

“Um, yes! Hi there, my name is Stiles and I’m calling for a Laura Hale?”

“Not here,” the man answers.

Stiles sighs, frustrated, “I’m sorry, did I dial the wrong number again? It’s happened a couple times now; it’s kind of been a long day and I--”

“No,” the voice interrupts, “this is her number, but she’s not here. You just missed her.”

“Ohh… in that case, could I leave a message?” Stiles asks, because he should at least try. 

There’s a long pause then some shuffling sounds as, Stiles assumes, the man at the end of the line digs around for a writing utensil.

“Go ahead.”

Stiles takes a deep breath and starts his script.

“Right, well, I’m with Magnifique at the Beacon Hills Mall, and we’re calling all of our VIP customers, like Laura, to let them know about a special event we have going on this week. It starts tomorrow and goes through Friday, the 7th, and during the event, Laura will get her usual VIP discount plus another 25% off any full price purchases. She can call and make an appointment with one of our stylists, if she’d like.”

There’s some furious scratching at the other end of the line, which Stiles definitely takes as a good sign. A bunch of times, someone would pick up and pretend to take a message, only to hang up on Stiles the second he took a breath. Which is really uncool because, hey, Stiles may be an over-glorified telemarketer, but he’s a person, too, and  just trying to do his job! And he actually does, on some level, want their customers to be informed about the sales because they probably want to save money on stuff as much as he does… except that he prefers savings on toilet paper and microwavable meals instead of designer jeans and sunglasses, but whatever.

In any case, the rugged, gruff voice comes back on the line and grunts.

“That all?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, that’s it…” and because Stiles is unable to help himself, “So, are you Ms. Hale’s boyfriend or husband or…?”

But Stiles never gets to find out because Mr. Tall, Dark, and Possibly Taken has already hung up on him.

 

\----

 

A bit later, Stiles punches out and slides through the front entrance, signaling his goodbye to his coworkers with his usual call of “Call me if you need me, but you better not need me” (if Jackson were around, he’d yell “Trust me, we don’t want to need you either!”; but as it is, he’s not, so Stiles can gaze at the Ginger Goddess that is Lydia Martin without fear of retribution). He checks his phone and makes note of the few emails and text alerts he needs to look into, then strolls down towards the center of the mall.

 

\----

 

When Stiles arrives at the chain restaurant, he’s able to quickly locate his best friend, chatting happily away with his waitress girlfriend at their usual table.

“Hey Scott, Allison.”

They both turn to smile at Stiles and he takes a seat across from Scott.

“Hey Stiles. What can I get you?”

“How ‘bout a margarita?” he asks, batting his eye lashes at the pretty brunette.

“Yeah right. I’m so not losing my job for you. Coke?”

Stiles sighs, pretending to be put out, “Yeah, I suppose.”

She walks away, a soft smile on her face, Scott watching her the whole way across the restaurant. 

“So... how was work, honey?”

Scott groans, “Shut up! Everyone already calls us an old married couple. You’re not helping.

“Not trying to help,” Stiles grins, then tosses his crumpled up paper silverware ring at Scott’s head. It lands in his fluffy brown hair and he flails, trying to sweep it away.

“Not funny. Work was fine, I guess. I had to wrestle a 6 year old down from the Nike display. I almost broke my neck!”

“Damn, that’s rough, my friend.”

“What about you?”

“Meh, just the usual. Got to call some hot guy. Definitely had a Heathcliff sort of vibe going on.”

Scott tilts his head, “Heathcliff?”

“Yes, Heathcliff. Dark, broody, a little crazy,” Stiles offers, but it doesn’t seem to be setting off any lightbulbs. “Wuthering Heights? Bronte? Nothing?” Stiles sighs. “Jesus, Scott, did you even read the book?”

Stiles can see the beginning of a pained look on Scotts face, so he’s thankful when Allison returns with their drinks and a basket of chips. 

“What are you two talking about?” she asks.

“Work,” Stiles shrugs, “your boyfriend’s poor child handling skills. Hot guys and literary characters.”

“Ooh, hot guys? Hold up your menu and pretend to order while you tell me about it.”

Scott just groans at his girlfriend’s enthusiasm and buries his head in his arms while Stiles and Allison chat behind the dirty plastic menu.  

**Author's Note:**

> Abrupt ending, sorry, but I looked it over and figured that was as good a place to stop as any.
> 
> I'm bad a keeping up with things, so while I will try SO SO SO hard to keep updating this, I cannot make any promise about keeping any sort of schedule. I have written the end though, so worst case scenario, I throw it out like a grenade and kamikaze this bitch. xx
> 
> EDIT- Yeah, it's been long enough that I'm not likely to keep working on this. I haven't had the job that was the inspiration for this for almost over a year now. Sorry, guys.


End file.
